


Beasts to Bury

by marmorashadows (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Illnesses, Kuron had a wife, M/M, Mention of previous relationships, Pre-Relationship, Sick Character, Sickfic, Terminal Illnesses, and son, half galra keith, tattoo artist Kuron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 05:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15113039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/marmorashadows
Summary: GRV, better known as the Galra Respiratory Virus, runs rampant through Kuron Shirogane's veins. The disease that claimed his wife and son ten years ago is slowly killing him, whittling away at what little resolve he has left.Keith Kogane, half Galra, is a carrier of GRV but being partly human makes his strain unique – a rapidly developing autoimmune disease only combatted with regular Quintessence-III treatments.Keith and Kuron, bittered by the hand life had dealt them, meet and bond over the disease they share. Kuron tired from life and Keith angry from his own lack of luck, make for an odd pair in the GRV ward but the closer they become the more they realize there are still good things to live for.





	Beasts to Bury

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is already killing me and while it in part touches close to home I am glad to share it with you all.
> 
> The backbone to this piece can be heard [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1y_KlLcE1Vo)
> 
>  
> 
> _Some days I'm tired of trying, honey_  
>  _But you're like a thousand miles from me_  
>  _You've got the antidote for me_
> 
> _And I know I can be hard to carry_   
>  _And I've got some beasts I need to bury_   
>  _But you've got the antidote for me_

_ Have you had your GRV vaccination this season? Stop by your local clinic and sign up to be vaccinated today! Remember, all GRV vaccinations are free for anyone under the age of 13 and over the age of 60. For questions, please call the GRV Hotline at 1-888-430-GLRA– _

Kuron slowly turned his eyes over to his alarm clock radio and reached with his cybernetic arm to slam his fist down until the voice finally disappeared. He didn’t need to hear about the GRV vaccine and how it was the  _ simplest _ way to stay GRV free. Bad enough he had to hear the ads on the radio on the way to work and then see them on every billboard, shop window, and telephone pole in town. Two weeks ago someone had placed an ad outside on the shop door and Kuron remembered vaguely how he’d stood up and angrily torn it down and crumpled the paper to be placed in the trash. 

The clock, now silent, reminded him it was almost noon and he needed to roll out of bed and actually go into work today. For three days, he’d been laid up in his bedroom, hardly moving, not eating, and definitely not caring for himself because his body hurt too much to do anything other than stare at the ceiling and watch the fan turn lazy circles as it combated the unforgiving desert summer heat. 

Shiro always told him he needed to move to a more temperate climate but Kuron was a stubborn mule when it came to doing anything he was  _ supposed _ to do. He was supposed to be on concentrated oxygen and he was supposed to throw his cigarettes in the trash because they would only accelerate his death, but doing what he was  _ supposed _ to do had never been Kuron’s style. The only thing he did consistently was drag his ass to the local GRV clinic and sit in an ice-cold room, wrapped in a ratty blanket, while the nurse’s pumped his veins full of Quintessence Treatment Stage V. 

And he only did that to shut Shiro up. 

His alarm clock went off again and Kuron grunted, finally reaching over to completely turn off the alarm and roll to a sitting upright position. Every move made muscles he didn’t even know he had ache so deeply he almost screamed. Expanding his lungs for deep breaths sent shocks of pain through his spine and up toward his neck. Every motion of his arms and even leaning forward to press his hands against his forehead to ease the dizziness in his skull was torture. Nausea followed and Kuron couldn’t make his legs work so he had no choice but to grab the trashcan permanently beside his bed to retch and throw up acidic bile. 

He hadn’t eaten in three days, so there wasn’t much left to throw up but Kuron coughed and spat bloody bile into the trashcan regardless. An agonized groan escaped Kuron’s mouth as he waited for nausea and the dizzy spell to fade until he could finally set down the trashcan and stand upright on wobbly legs. He knew as soon as he walked into the tattoo shop, his coworkers would cast him sidelong glances but say nothing, even though they wanted to remind him he needed to be resting. Kuron refused to lie down and rest unless necessary and today was not as bad as the last three. 

Kuron limped to his bathroom to cough up more spittle and blood into the cracked sink. Cold water splashed against his face sent a small shock to his system and steadied his shaking hand. He pressed his hands against the dirty veneer and slowly raised his gaze to stare at the man in the mirror. The man staring back looked nothing like he had even a few months ago. 

Stage V had done a number on his body and mind.

The man’s face was gaunt and pale, purple veins ran beneath his skin along his eyes and cheeks. His hair long and shaggy, a white streak running through his bangs and dark stubble coated his jaw but his hands were too shaky to shave these days. Kuron remembered a time when he’d been fit and able to bench well over 300 pounds but his body was so weak now he couldn’t even look at the gym without feeling his muscles seize. Sunken in eyes surrounded by bags so purple they resembled bruises. Dark grey of an angry storm stared lifelessly back at him but Kuron finally pulled away from the mirror to take a piss and wash out his mouth with some Listerine.

His looks had never been important to him until they were gone. Shiro, his younger brother, despite working with patients and in a lab all day, still stood a handsome testament to the Shirogane genes but putting them side by side was like staring at a man and his sick, pale shadow. Kuron remembered when they’d looked so alike people would always mistake them for twins despite Kuron being eight years older than his brother. Now, they were so easily discernible Kuron felt bitterness well over him in waves with just the thought.

His arm, scar, and hair were not always the first thing people noticed about telling them apart anymore. Now, they were so dissonant from each other because the disease Shiro fought so hard to research was killing Kuron at a slow and agonizing pace. 

A soft chirp coming from the bedroom reminded Kuron he was now just standing in the bathroom, lost in thought and not actually doing anything. He lumbered back into the bedroom and saw his phone was lighting up with text messages from Shiro. 

_ GM! Well, afternoon, but I know for you tattoo artist’s it’s morning. Don’t overwork today and don’t forget to come in for your treatment tomorrow. I scheduled you for 9 am because I know you like to get done and over with.  _

Kuron rolled his eyes and almost laid back down in bed but managed to shake the urge enough to find jeans and a t-shirt to pull on for work. The jeans were ripped in the knees and the shirt was from the floor but it didn’t smell too bad. People tended to like him grubby and edgy – something about an  _ aesthetic _ but Kuron just didn’t have the energy to shop for new clothes or do laundry half the time.

**_Yeah yeah I remember my treatment is tomorrow. Christ, Shiro._ **

_ I just don’t want you to forget. How are you feeling today? _

**_Like shit._ **

**_What else is new_ **

_ :( I’m sorry do you want me to come over tonight and make you dinner? What time are you off work? I called and told them not to let you work all night _

**_You did what?! Shiro!_ **

_ You CAN’T work all night. You need rest. _

Kuron glared at his phone, gripping it so tightly he feared he would snap the thin piece of glass between his fingers. He knew Shiro meant well and only had his best interests in mind but Shiro constantly butted into his life when Kuron didn’t  _ want _ the extra hand out or help.

**_Shouldn’t you be helping patients? Helping people worse off than me?_ **

_ You are a patient. _

**_Not your patient._ **

_ You’re my brother. I love you and just want you to STOP racing to the finish line. Please, Kuron. Please take care of yourself. _

Kuron tucked his phone away and didn’t bother to reply to Shiro’s final text. He had to go to work anyway, he was already late. The tattoo shop he currently called his second home was within walking distance of his apartment but walking was so hard these days he had no choice but to drive and park behind the building. Even driving was an effort but he managed to make it there in 15 minutes and slowly ease himself out of his beat-up station wagon and walk into the shop through the back door.

Voices drifted from the front of the shop when Kuron walked in but he ignored them in favor of going to his small little studio and tattoo area to set his bag on the swivel chair and gather his hair into a messy ponytail so it wouldn’t be in the way for any clients he had or didn’t have today. Kolivan’s deep voice traveled back to Kuron and he could hear them discussing Regris staying on his preventative during his apparent flare up.

“You shouldn’t even be at work,” Kolivan scolded but Regris’ cool voice quickly responded.

“I’ve already been on Prep Q for a week. I was checked out by the clinic this morning. I’m not contagious currently. I can be here.”

Kolivan huffed but didn’t offer up a new argument. Kuron slowly walked toward the front and watched both of their yellow eyes turn on him and Kolivan’s brows pulled in worry. He always looked worried when gazing at Kuron as if he were as fragile as a porcelain doll. Kuron ignored the looks and instead went to gaze at the books.

No appointments listed under his name.

“I hope this is because I’ve been absent and not because you’re purposefully keeping appointments from me,” Kuron grumbled darkly toward Kolivan.

“You’ve been gone for three days, what did you expect, a full day of clients?” Kolivan retorted.

“Maybe,” Kuron lied. “Better than sitting on my ass and doing nothing.”

Kolivan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I have to work,” Kuron snapped back. “Don’t sound like Shiro, I already have him yelling at me.”

“He’s right. He’s a doctor, he would know,” Kolivan continued to argue but Kuron raised his middle finger. Reflex.

"I don’t have the energy to argue right now,” Kuron said before he had no choice but to lean against the counter. He attempted to make the move look graceful and with purpose but his body sagged with too much weight and he knew Regris and Kolivan knew he was exhausted just from this one conversation.

“You should sit,” Regris said, his claws tapping away on the work desktop, probably inputting appointments into the calendar because Kolivan and Kuron hated to use technology as much as they both despised reality television – even if Kuron, at times, found himself watching some awful show on TV to pass the time while he was being pumped with Q-V. Watching other people scream at one another and fight over potential sex partners made him feel better about his current state of a pathetic excuse for a life.

Some people really did have it worse off than him.

“I’m fine,” Kuron lied through gritted teeth, partly from pain and partly from being annoyed. More than anything, he wanted people to  _ butt _ out of his life and stop telling him what he should and should not do. Kuron couldn’t even count on two hands the list of things he wasn’t  _ supposed _ to do:

  * Don’t smoke
  * Don’t stand for too long
  * Don’t drink 
  * Don’t forget to come in for your Q
  * Don’t overwork
  * Don’t work at all 
  * Don’t exercise too hard
  * Don’t eat junk food
  * Don’t forget to stop by the pharmacy to pick up your medication
  * Don’t do drugs
  * Don’t under eat
  * Don’t overeat



Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

The list never ended and only seemed to grow with every passing day. They were eventually going to tell him to not breathe and to simply lie in a bed and wait for death to claim his corporeal body and drag his spirit down to the hell pit it belonged in. Kuron pushed off of the counter and used the momentum to carry his body back toward his area so he could sit and find some peace and quiet without Kolivan nagging him or Regris’ claws clacking away on the keyboard keys.

Every sound tended to annoy him but Kuron supposed that was due to the GRV as well. Anything going wrong in his day or his life, Kuron blamed on the disease wracking his body whether it was truly the disease or not. He had the runs? GRV. Couldn’t stop shaking long enough to hold a fucking pen or tattoo gun? GRV. Couldn't stay off of the toilet and vomiting? GRV – that last one probably really was the GRV and the others were potentially linked as well. No one had ever before reported shaking but Kuron’s limbs were unsteady most of the time these days so he supposed it was due to his body just being sick and weak.

Kuron reached over to plug his old iPod into his stereo to listen to a soothing playlist and ease his mind from nausea and exhaustion. If he didn’t have any clients, he would take the time to sketch up new ideas and hope for a walk-in. Everyone else was booked today so he would be the one to do any walk-ins they received today anyway. Of course, with the sun shining and the weather being what most people would consider  _ pleasant _ , Kuron had a feeling they would be dead since no one wanted to spend the nice weather locked away in a building for hours.

The hours ticked away until Kuron found himself lost in a sketch turned into a more complicated flash piece to update the flash on the walls outside for people to peruse. He hadn’t had a chance to update any of his flash work for months so Kuron felt encouraged by his own concentration. The buzzing of tattoo guns and the soothing sounds of the koto eased the anxiety away from his limbs and mind. His hands trembled slightly as he began to ink the drawing but Kuron forced his wrist to remain steady while his brow sheened with sweat from the effort used to keep his lines straight and perfect. 

The concentration turned quickly to strain and Kuron jerked when his vision swam and his head and body seemed to veer violently to the right. Vertigo sent him off of his stool and he reached out wildly to try and catch himself but instead, he knocked over his pens, sketchbook, and his stool on the way to the ground. The floor, harder than he expected, knocked the air out of his lungs and the shock of the fall left Kuron paralyzed on the ground, unable to move. His limbs refused to move like they would have in his younger days to dust off the ridiculous accident.

He prayed no one had heard the incident and he would be left with dignity but his prayers fell on deaf ears because Kolivan’s hands were quickly on his biceps and easing him slowly into a sitting position. The world spun again and Kuron groaned helplessly as he felt a wave of nausea make his stomach turn sour. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbled but the words came out garbled and wrong. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d said but Kolivan managed to reach for the trashcan at least and Kuron was able to lean over it and vomit what little lunch he’d nibbled on while drawing. 

“Move along,” Kolivan snapped, probably at lurkers in the doorway. “Kuron, are you alright?” 

Kuron raised his thumb as an indicator he was fine but they both knew that was a lie. He heard Kolivan tell Regris to call 911 and opened his mouth to protest but the only thing to come out was more vomit. He groaned, pressing his forehead to the lip of the trashcan, panting and resting on the floor. A cold sweat had settled across his limbs and left his t-shirt clinging to his chest and lower back. The trashcan reeked and it only made him feel more nauseated but he didn’t have the strength to hold his head up. 

Maybe he really did need to see the doctor. 

Kolivan waited with him while the EMT’s arrived, wearing masks as a precaution, and soon Kuron was surrounded, having his vitals looked over, and he could hear them radioing in a Stage V patient. Kuron flinched as they talked about him in such cold, medical terms. The desire to yell and scream that he was a  _ person _ , not a diagnosis, not a disease, wanted to burst out of chest but he had no energy left to do anything other than let them manhandle him and ease him onto a stretcher. 

“ _ We have a Stave V coming in, a Stage V in need of Emergency Q-V. Patient name: Kuron Shirogane. Yes- Shirogane. Heart rate 145 bpm, blood pressure… _ ”

Kuron tuned the man’s voice out, letting his tired eyes fall closed so he didn’t have to see the staring as he was taken out of the shop and put into the back of an ambulance. An intoxicating combination of antiseptic and latex made Kuron’s urge to vomit return and he tried to tell them he was going to be sick but the words wouldn’t come. He could only roll to the side and throw up on one of their shoes. Guilt ate at his resolve but the EMT pushed his hair from his face and told him he was going to be alright and they would fix him up with Q-V soon. 

Kuron didn’t care about Q-V. All he wanted was to die with dignity and in peace. 

Shiro cared about Q-V. Shiro wanted him to live. Shiro didn’t have GRV Stage V.

Shiro could sympathize because he saw Stage V patients every single day but he would never  _ understand _ the way another Stage V patient would understand but Kuron had no friends. He didn’t go out, he didn’t socialize, and he most certainly didn’t date. He’d never dated – that was a lie. He’d dated once. He’d even married once but that had been before the GRV vaccination and before a cure. Kuron shut his eyes at the memory of his wife and son, cruelly torn from him too soon. Tears filled his eyes and he had no strength to keep them from falling silent but unchecked down his face. The closest EMT gently wiped them away, mistaking his tears for a side-effect of his illness.

Kuron missed his wife and son.

The absence they left in his heart made him bitter and angry for what he could never have. If only they’d managed to catch the disease just a few years later, they would still be alive today. They wouldn’t be buried underground for the past ten years. They would be  _ alive _ and they would be cured but his son had been too young to withstand stage 3 and had died so fast even the doctors had been stunned. He’d been one of the first children to ever contract the disease and then his wife had quickly followed their son to her grave. 

_ It’s your fault _ , Kuron chastised himself, tears still welling behind closed eyelids.  _ You killed them. _

“We’re almost there,” the woman said quietly, her hand resting along his right shoulder. “You’re going to be fine.”

“No,” Kuron whispered but it was more for himself than for her. He’d quit being fine ten years ago when his own stubbornness had sent his family to their graves. Just one trip to the doctor could have saved them, just one trip sooner, one noticeable sign but by the time he’d been diagnosed as GRV Stage 3 it was too late for his wife and son. 

A lump formed in the back of Kuron’s throat and he attempted to swallow it but the tears only made his chin wobble with the threat of an oncoming desire to sob and mourn. He hadn’t cried in ten years for the biggest loss of his life and he wasn’t even sure how he’d never managed to eat a bullet but part of him lived out of guilt. Having GRV Stage V was difficult and agonizing but the guilt of killing his beautiful wife and small son kept him living because the longer he suffered the more penance he paid for their loss. 

The ambulance finally came to a stop and he was wheeled out of the back and into the Emergency Room specifically for GRV patients. The tears hadn’t stopped and they just kept rolling down his face and he was wracked with exhausting sobs. The EMT’s spoke quietly with the team of nurses and doctors who quickly flooded him from all sides, tying his arm off, tapping for a vein, and setting up bag upon bag of Emergency Q-V. 

The emergency version was fast-acting and Kuron had only had to endure its agony once. The poison they called medicine would burn through his veins and limbs, attacking the flare of GRV to try and combat it back to normal levels. Someone else was talking to him but he was too beside himself with grief to respond or maybe he was too weak. He couldn’t decide outside of the uncontrolled sobs pouring out of his mouth like a wounded animal. He just wanted his Jesse back. 

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for being a stubborn ass. He wanted to tell her he loved her and had never looked at anyone since her and probably would die alone like he deserved. He wanted to hold his son in his arms and soothe his crying. He wanted to kiss them both on the forehead while they napped. He wanted them  _ back _ . 

Kuron didn’t realize he was rambling all of this out loud until the sight of his brother’s face shocked him into complete silence. Shiro gently pushed his hair back from his face and slowly slid his hand into Kuron’s weaker one and squeezed, his eyes soft and gentle. Kuron stared up at Shiro and remembered when they looked so alike people couldn’t tell them apart. Now the difference was stark and clear. 

“Hey,” Shiro said gently. “I’m here. I’m right here. You’re okay now. You’re going to be okay.” 

A few more tears ran down Kuron’s face and the medicine burned through his arms as they started the drip. He groaned and shut his eyes, hoping they would be kind enough to put him to sleep through this instead of leaving him to be in pain for hours.

“Jesse loved you, Kuron,” Shiro whispered and pulling up a chair to sit by his bedside. “She loved you so much.” 

Kuron felt his chin wobble again and he had to take a few deep breaths to steady himself, still leaving his hand securely in Shiro’s. He couldn’t speak. The words were lodged deep within the recesses of his throat. 

“If she were here, she’d kick your ass for being a stubborn mule,” Shiro teased. “I looked at your chart. You didn't come in for your last treatment, did you?” 

He hadn’t. He’d missed one and apparently, this was the result. “I was sick,” he managed to growl through the pain. 

Shiro squeezed his hand again. “You should have told me, we could have set up a home treatment for you.”

He wanted to snap that he was  _ fine _ but the image of him lying in a hospital bed, in a hospital gown, probably looking like death warmed over would defeat the words in single hand combat. He was not fine and everyone knew that. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. 

Shiro smiled softly and continued to sit at Kuron’s bedside. “Once this emergency round is over, you’ll feel better. I know it sucks while you have it done but I promise. You’ll feel  _ so _ much better.” 

That was true. 

Emergency Q-V usually did leave Kuron feeling like he was somewhere between stages III and IV but the feeling would fade within a few weeks. He would return to being feeble and exhausted and feeling like he was ninety and not thirty-eight. Even though he viewed himself as  _ old _ , Kuron knew in reality he was still young but his body refused to allow him to feel as young as his birth certificate said he was.

“I miss Jesse,” Kuron whispered. “And I miss Ryou.” 

“I know,” Shiro said just as quietly. “I miss them, too.”

“It’s my fault. I killed them–.”

“ _ No _ ,” Shiro snarled. “You did not kill them.”

“I should have gone to the doctor– to get tested. I should have… I should have done  _ something _ . If I could go back and do it again, I would. I would get tested and I wouldn’t– they wouldn’t be dead. They’d be okay,” Kuron insisted. 

“You don’t know that,” Shiro replied. “I’m not saying they’d still be dead but you don’t know that for sure. They might have gotten sick from someone else. You don’t know where they picked it up from.” 

“Doctor said it was probably from me,” Kuron said, his voice as bitter as he felt most days. He would never forget that awful conversation. Sitting in a chair and being blamed for the death of his young wife and younger son. He’d never felt so small. 

“Sendak is a piece of shit, that’s why they took his license away,” Shiro reminded him firmly. “Guy was nuts… It wasn’t your fault. You have to stop  _ blaming _ yourself for this… Jesse wouldn't want you to blame yourself.”

Tears made Kuron’s vision swim. “Ryou would be ten,” he whispered. “Ten years old… Maybe he’d… be like you. Want to be a doctor or maybe he’d be like me- an artist. I don’t know… I want to know, I want to know.”

Shiro reached over to dab Kuron’s tears gently with some tissues. “Hey, look at me.” 

For a moment, Kuron ignored Shiro’s request and then his brain reminded him he may end up killing Shiro too and he owed his brother this one thing. He turned his eyes to Shiro’s and saw the life housed in the grey irises. They both had identical eyes which always stunned people when they stood side by side. The same black hair. The same facial structure.

“I love you, Kuron,” Shiro said, his voice firm but a slight tremble existed beneath the firmness. “And–.” Kuron watched as Shiro struggled to keep his own composure.

“And?” Kuron whispered. 

“I don’t want you to  _ die _ ,” Shiro said, the last word cracking like a desperate clap of thunder. Shiro’s tears were the rain within Kuron’s drought and he immediately shoved his own pain aside to address his brother’s. 

“I don’t want to die either,” he said quickly. 

“Then you have to take care of yourself.  _ Please _ .” Shiro raised his reddened eyes and tear-streaked face and Kuron slowly released Shiro’s hand to reach up and gently brush the tears away with shaking fingers. 

“I will,” he promised. 

They both knew the promise meant something at the moment.

They both also knew the promise would quickly empty of all meaning once the Emergency Q-V’s effects faded but the sentiment would remain the same. Shiro nodded and Kuron slowly shut his eyes. Whatever they had given him to sleep finally wrapped its arms around him and slowly pulled him under. As sleep took hold, Kuron recalled the soft touch of Ryou’s curls beneath his fingertips. 

Peace. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://pining-sheith.tumblr.com/)


End file.
